The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-07-30
THE CHILD SPY.

They called him Stenne-youngS tenne.
He was a real Paris boy, puny and
pale, perhaps ten and perhaps fifteen
years old-for with these imps you can
never tell. His mother was dead and his
father, formerly a soldier in the marines,
was the guardian of square in the Quar-
tier du Temple. Everybody knew Fa-
Their Stenne and loved him - babies,
nurses, poor women and the old ladies
with their camp stools-in fact the whole
of that part of Paris which seeks refuge
from passing carriages in these flower
plots surrounded by sidewalks. Every
body knew what pleasant, sympathetic
smile the old fellow hid behind his brist-
ling mustache, both the terror of dogs
and loafers, and they also knew that to
call up that smile they had but to asks
How is the little boy to-day9"
How old Father Stenne loved that boy
He felt so happy when the little fellow
came for him in the evening after school,
and they walked down the alleys hand in
hand, stopping before each bench to
greet the regular visitors and answer
their polite questions.
Unfortunately, the siege changed all
this. Father Stenne's square was closed,
and petroleum was stored there; so the
poor old man, ever on the watch, and not
allowed to smoke, passed his life wander
ing alone among the deserted, overturned
strawberries. He could not see his son
now until late at night, at home, and you
should have heard him talk about the
Prussians and seen his mustsche bristle
up fiercely Young Stenne did not COM
plain much of his new life.
You see siege is lots of fun for the
boys; school is closed; no more examina-
lions now; every day is holiday, and the
streets are like fair.
The child used to stay out until night
fall, running about everywhere. He fol-
lowed the companies of his ward rs they
tramped off to duty on the ramparts, and
always picked out those that had the best
band. Young Stenne was well up on this
subject, and he could tell you why the
band of the Ninety-sixth was poor and why
that of the Fifty fifth was SO good. Then
again he watched mobiles drill. Besides
these amusements there were the waiting
professions, which formed before the
doors of the butchers and bakers, in the
dark winter mornings, when the lights
were all out, and he would stand up in
file like the rest, with his basket under
his arm and his feet in the slush and wa
ter. Here he made acquaintance and
talked politics, and, as he was the son of
Mr.. Stenne, everybody asked his opinion.
But what was most fun was pitching PEN
MES, and that famous game of "gsloche,"
which the Breton militia had brought
into fashion during the siege. When you
could not find young Stenne either on the
ramparts or at the bakers he was pretty
sure to be at the game of "galoche," on
the square du Chateau d'Eau. He could
not play, of course-that cost too much;
but he looked on, and opened the biggest
greediest eyes in the world.
There was one fellow in blue smock,
whom he admired especially; he only bet
dollar chips, and when he ran you could
hear the silver jingle in his pockets.
One day as he was picking up a coin
which had rolled away and stopped just
at young Stenne's feet, the big fellow said
to him in low voice: 1T makes you
squirt, doesit? Well, if you want to know
I'll tell you where you can get some."
When the game was over he led him TO
corner Of the square and proposed TO
him to go with him and sell newspapers
to the Prussians, he got thirty francs
trip. Stenne refused at first and was
highly indignant. For three days he
would not go back to the game-what
awful days those three werel He could
not eat or sleep. At night he dreamed
of piles of gsloches at the foot OF his bed,
sno of shining dollars, slipping along on
their faces. The temptation was too
strong, and on the fourth day he returned
to the Chateau dEau, saw the big fell
low, and allowed himself to be talked
over.
One snowy morning they started out,
each with a cloth bag slung across his
shoulder, and with the newspapers hid
den under his blouse. 1t was hardly
light when they reached the Flanders
gate. The big boy took him by the hand
and led him up to the sentinel-s good
humored, fat old fellow with rec nose
and said to him in a whining voice:
"Kind sir, do let us pass, please, sir;
mothers i'll and fathers dead, and my
young brother and want to get out into
the field and try to find some potatoes"